Thoughts on the Dead

Musings on the Most Ridiculous Band I Can't Stop Listening To

Black, White, And Grey


My dearest Trixie Garcia-on the Dead,

I hope this letter finds you well, as it is an important one. Trixie, I know I forswore my romancification of your luscisousness many months ago. To the heavens I raged, but in the end, surrendered. No more could I darken your door, or peep in your window, or steal your laundry. (I am sorry I stole your laundry and I am very sorry for the things I did to/with/on/in it.)

You needed to be free.

As for me, you needn’t worry. At a burger joint the other day, I saw a woman’s underwear. She was sitting there waiting for her burger, and her skirt was hiked up, and I could see everything from soup to nuts. Not actual nuts: she had a vagina, but the saying still applies.

So, I’m pretty much swimming in it.

But, we can’t lie to ourselves any longer, can we Trixie? What fate has wrought let no restraining order tear asunder. We go together, like your dad and your mom. Or your dad and any of his other wives.

Let’s leave your father out of this.

Our love is immortal, conquering: but, there’s so much I don’t know about you. Do you have children? Upon the commencement of our relationship, may I eat them? That’s how lions do it and, baby: I wanna be your lion. You should know that after eating your children, I would mate with you right the fuck away, so those kids would be replaced as soon as possible. You should know that.

Dare we surrender to our animal selves?

What about the butt? Here’s my opening position: I consider it to be in play. Yours, mine, any that accidentally get in the way. The butt is a great DJ: taking requests, but also surprising you with new stuff you never heard before. How do you feel about the butt? About my butt? Butts in general? Are there hard-and-fast rules, or is there a sliding scale based on rum drinks?

I’m a Pisces.


Thoughts on the Dead

ps Tell Bobby I say hi.

Macho Men


It was the worst performance of Y.M.C.A. that anyone had ever seen.

Questions For Senator Leahy

As a taxpayer–

I can’t even begin to list the inaccuracies in that description.

–all I ask is what can my country do for me? And how can I get away with contributing nothing, yet looking as though I was, and maybe stealing just a little bit on the way out the door?

The power of journalism, my fellow Enthusiasts. While U.S. Senator Pat Leahy (D-VT) is, indeed, my newest and closest of companions, our friendship must remain private. TotD cannot reveal to you, say, the amusement park he rented out with slush fund money so we could ride the Steamin’ Demon over and over again, whinnying like happy, little ponies each time we went round the loop.

That would be bad for his image.

And yet: the Senator has never answered–publicly–many questions that Enthusiasts need to know. Therefore, TotD submits these simple questions, mostly dealing with his love for the Dead.

  • When was your first Dead show?
  • Were you tripping balls? (I know you’re a serious person and can’t answer that, so if it’s “yes,” just continue being the senior Senator from Vermont, and we’ll all know that you were tripping balls.)
  • What is your favorite Dead show?
  • What is the BEST EVAR Dead show?
  • In less than 10,000 words, please compare and contrast your favorite Dead show to the BEST EVAR Dead show, and explain why they must by definition be two different shows.
  • I will also accept a rant that becomes increasingly obscurantist on the subject of subjectivity and the false categorization that BEST EVAR necessarily entails. Bonus points for mentioning Jeremy Bentham or Jacques Lacan.
  • Which Senator is the smelliest?
  • Why won’t Bernie Sanders comb his hair?
  • Has there ever been a U.S. Senator named “Stitches,” and if not, could you get everyone to call Ted Cruz that?
  • What was your favorite Garcia song?
  • What was your favorite Bobby song?
  • What was your favorite Brent song? (I’m just kidding: no one had a favorite Brent song.)
  • What’s the longest you’ve ever kept a goldfish alive?
  • How far in advance does the Senate know which team will win that year’s Super Bowl?
  • How sweet are franking privileges?
  • You’ve been a Senator for almost 40 years: how much franking would you say you’ve done?
  • What’s the biggest thing you’ve ever franked? Like: could you send a piano to Milwaukee?
  • Has there ever been a Senator named Frank? Because his wife would also have had Franking privileges.
  • I’m not saying it’s a regular thing, but there’s been at least one Black Mass in the Senate Building, right?
  • What’s with New Hampshire?

The Singing Senator


A few of my long-time readers may remember TotD has become BFF’s with US Senator Pat Leahy (D-VT).

It was less than 24 hours ago you were hallucinating about this out loud. In between mocking Garcia’s love life, of course.

Nevertheless: you would be shocked how many Enthusiasts have only the most episodic of memories. Was the Pat Leahy thing yesterday, or was Bobby becoming a vampire yesterday? When was the last time anyone heard from Mrs. Donna Jean? I don’t think anyone celebrates T-Shirt Tuesday anymore.

Your point is made.

Thank you. Also: Mickey should fuck off away from that microphone. Maybe the Senator can sing, maybe he can’t: Mickey’s gonna start to rap and it’s not going to work out well for anyone.

Singing drummers? Garcia’s remains are spinning in that filthy, foreign river they dumped him into.

Claw Hammered


Hey, buddy.


Don’t shush me, man. You’re fictional.


Whatever. Do you know how to play that thing?

“I don’t know how to tune it, honestly.”

Never let it stop you before.

“Damn straight. Full speed ahead.”

The Biggest Little Rock Star In The Band


“Do I sing? Fuck yeah, I sing: I BELT, motherfucker. I sing of arms, and the man. I sing sweetly and lightly, daily and nightly, til the breaka breaka dawn, y’all.

“My aim is true, and I aim for truth. I learned more from a three-minute record than I ever did at school. Granted, that record was The Monster Mash, but I gleaned my harsh education from the teat of a she-beast I named Julie.


“Parched you come, and I alone slake your thirst. Hungered are you, and my nipples by themselves can feed a small arena. I am your rock and roll Jesus and I tell you now: eat me up, Reno! NOM NOM NOM.”

Phil, you wanna do something about this?

“No. Fuck him. I told him the proper dosage was not a handful, but he didn’t want to listen.”


Hippie Camoflage

bobby phil tie dye oldHey, guys.


“Hi, there.”

Tie-dye Friday?


“You betcha.”

Thanks for letting everyone see your feet, Bobby.

“Y’know, you’re the first person to thank me for that?”

That’s weird.


Of Course He Is

mickey sammy drums

  • Is Mickey jamming with Sammy Hagar?
  • Is Mickey jamming with Sammy Hagar for Sammy Hagar’s new reality show?
  • Sammy Hagar’s doing a reality show?
  • Is Mickey wearing a Dead shirt?
  • Is Mickey having one of his moments where he thinks he’s Jesus?
  • Is Mickey giving a lecture about the history of whatever wooden doodad he’s currently whacking to the cameraman?
  • Seriously, Sammy Hagar’s doing a reality show?
  • Is Billy hopped up on meth and tequila, perched in the air ducts dressed in a tactical Hawaiian shirt and about to see how prepared Mickey’s barn is for a terrorist attack?

The Beginnings Of A Beautiful Friendship

bobby leahy

“Now, Bob: how many times do I have to tell you not to wear a tie on my behalf.”

“Oh, no, Your Worship: there’s like half-a-pharmacy in the lining of this sucker.”


“Oh, yeah. Nobody ever pats down a tie.”

“You got a little something in there for your old buddy Pat?

“Sure, Mr. Mayor. You wanna dab down, zonk out, fly high, or shoot the moon?”

“Just a couple percocet would be fine, Bob.”

“Oh, shit, I got like 90 of those on me. Here.”

“I got some boner pills, too.”

“Then kick those fuckers down, bro. Let’s find the bar, wash these down, and rustle up some foxes.”

“Will they be stone-cold, Warden?”

“Dude: I’m a Senator and you’re a rock star.”

“We are gonna get sooooo laid.”


phil bobby jerry bruce shorts wow

Tossed over the transom by YumCum–


–whatever, this photo from the night my new best friend and political mentor Senator Pat Leahy (D-VT) attended might occupy a bit of time and space. There is not one acceptable thing about it. I’d say that we’ll go left to right, but we all know I’m going to be making repeated trips back to Phil, so let’s just begin to look at this bullshit.

(The photo blows up nice and big and clear and you just hit the “enhance” button as many times as you can because you want to say as much of this as possible. This is the Dead version of the Hubble’s Deep Field picture, except instead of seeing infinite galaxies as you zoom in, you see infinite bullshit.)

  • We start easy with Phil and note that he wearing either Keds or Cousin Eddie’s white loafers from National Lampoon’s Vacation.
  • Bobby’s hitting the Jimmy Buffet show after this.
  • The SuperCuts that Jill always takes Phil to had burned down (Garcia) so Jill took him to their less-popular competitor MiddlingCuts.
  • Which was closed, so she did it herself. You can’t see it, but she cut the bejeezus out of Phil’s left ear.
  • Holy shit, are those jeggings, Garcia?
  • Everyone needs to stop using the Time Sheath technology to go shopping.
  • We can assume that the drummers are up to some bullshit, but can’t see them. I mean, statistically: Billy’s so drunk that he’s no longer racist and wearing a shirt that, in defiance of God’s love, is both tie-dyed and Hawaiian at the same time; and Mickey’s got some sort of smart condom attached to his dong and is trying to make music with his boner, but we can’t verify these things. Therefore, the drummers win this photo by default.
  • Is Bobby wearing Dead sneakers?
  • There are Dead sneakers?
  • If so, how have I not seen Mickey wearing them?
  • Bruce looks like he’s gonna ask you about the drive over and whether you want a hot dog or a hamburger.
  • Bobby got his socks at Tan Francisco’s Vague Mexican Food and Hosiery. Francisco (who was simply courting skin cancer) sold only the finest in…socks? Leg warmers? They definitely went on your feet. While you were there, you could order a taco or a burrito or an enchilada. You could order whatever the hell you’d like, but you received some stuff wrapped up in a corn something.
  • Phil looks like the Target assistant manager who got fired for killing all those people.
  • Plus, he’s singing. Yay.
  • If you were naked and in public and someone offered you your choice of anything being worn in this picture, you’d choose the accordion. The accordion is the most acceptable thing in this picture.
  • Do you realize how tough that is in a non-Bavarian setting?

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